Page 83 of His Assistant

“You said I was dead to you.”

His jaw tightens. “I know.”

“I needed you,” I say. “I know you were scared. I know you hate all of this. I hate a lot of it too. But I needed my dad, and you made loving you feel like another ultimatum.”

He swallows, and his eyes go glassy. I hate that. I hate it because it makes me want to forgive him too quickly, and he doesn’t get a free pass just because he’s hurt.

“I just wanted to keep you safe,” he says.

That makes me laugh once, tired and sad. “And look where it got us.”

“I know.” He looks toward the window, at the city beyond it. “Your mother used to tell me my pride was going to get me killed.”

“She knew you better than anyone.”

“She was my everything,” he says with a sigh.

“I’m still mad at you,” I whisper.

“I know, carina.”

“I’m probably going to be mad for a while. But I still love you.”

His hand comes up to my hair, rough and careful. “I still love you, too. More than I knew how to handle.”

We stay like that until my neck hurts and his breathing gets rough. Then I pull back, wiping my face with the heel of my hand.

“Also, you’re not leaving until Dr. Greco clears you.”

Later that afternoon, Dominic comes to see him. I’m in the sitting room outside Dad’s bedroom with tea I don’t want and a plate of crackers Chiara brought me. She wasn’t lying; she’s been incredibly nurturing since we came home.

Dominic appears at the end of the hall in a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, looking tired in a way I’ve never seen on him before. He stops when he sees me.

“How is he?”

“Annoying.”

He chuckles. “I’d like to talk to him,” he says. “Do you want to be there?”

Part of me does. A big part. The nosy, anxious, deeply invested part. But they need to do this alone. I think it’ll help Dad act more rationally.

“No,” I say. “I’ll be right here.”

Dominic nods once, then goes into the room and shuts the door behind him. I immediately regret my maturity.

The door is too thick to listen through. I sit on the couch and stare at my untouched tea. The only thing that gives me any comfort is knowing Dad’s too weak to punch Dominic, and Dominic wouldn’t hit an injured man.

I think.

After ten minutes, the door opens. Dominic steps out looking perplexed. He pulls the door halfway shut and looks at me.

“Well?”

“He thanked me,” he says.

I blink. “My father?”

“Yes.”